


A Soft Drop

by barbex



Category: Mission: Impossible, Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Light Dom/sub, Minor Injuries, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbex/pseuds/barbex
Summary: An unexpected rescue for Ethan from a job gone bad. A woman he met before."There's nothing hotter than a woman in a suit." Especially an older woman like Max but he won't say that. As it turns out, he won't say much more anyway, and quite happily, actually.
Relationships: Ethan Hunt/Max Mitsopolis, Max (Mission: Impossible)/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2020





	A Soft Drop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplecoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/gifts).



> Oh dear simplecoffee, your letter was so inspiring, the story just kept growing. I hope you like it.

* * *

**Ethan:**

Ethan drags a dresser in front of the door, one of these old, heavy things that aren't mere furniture but a dedication to the oak tree that took a hundred years to grow just so that someone could make a dresser of impressive style and weight from it. Not that Ethan finds the thing particularly pretty but he can appreciate good craftsmanship. Especially if it holds off Sergio's men a little longer. 

The dresser makes an indignant noise as someone runs against the door it's holding and Ethan knows his time is up. And he is in deep shit. The backup plan to the backup plan has fallen through and he is down to improvising; which is bad, very bad.

The room has a balcony, sure he can use that in a way? Unlike the sturdy furniture inside, the balustrade is a flimsy glass and steel concoction that looks ghastly but at least it will be up to European building standards. Hopefully. 

The rope on his belt clips into the arched steel and he lowers himself down just as the dresser has to give way to the combined force of Sergio's men. He lets the rope slip faster through his fingers, deeply regretting that he lost a glove somewhere. The skin on his hand breaks, blood seeping into the nylon of the rope, when one of Sergio's men finally thinks of looking over the balustrade. He can't help but wave at him with a grin. 

The guy pulls his gun. His first shot misses Ethan by a fraction and he really doesn't want to give the guy a chance to improve his aim. The ground is still far away, he's running out of rope and he's hanging here like a practice target over the sleepy streets of Hamburg. There's a tree under him, of course there is, there's so many trees in this city. Maybe even a sturdy oak that escaped the destiny of becoming a dresser unlike its brother up there. Ethan grabs his knife and cuts the rope.

Falling is always surprisingly fast, gravity doesn't do slow motion, not like in the movies. The tree is sturdy indeed, he can hear something crack as he crashes into it and hopes that it's a tree branch. Tumbling down into the patch of green at the bottom of the treetrunk, he has to admit to the error. It was definitely his rib that cracked and possibly his lower leg too. He's momentarily hidden by the tree but that doesn't stop Sergio's buddy up there from shooting blindly and he scrambles to get behind the tree. 

The pain is excruciating, his vision swims. He fumbles for the injector in his pocket, flipping the tip off with his thumb and jamming it into his shoulder. The relief is nearly instant, the painkillers and whatever else they throw into that stuff at the IMF clearing his mind like a curtain being pulled back. His heart beats too fast though.

The tree is his new best friend, its trunk wider than Ethan, covering him. But that won't help him when Sergio's friends make it down the stairs. He starts running and the road threatens to hit him in the face as he stumbles. His ankle screams in pain, it barely holds his weight, despite the painkillers.

"Fuck." He is fucked, so very fucked. He can't run, he can't fight, and he only has five shots left. He has no backup, no way of getting out of here and Sergio will not at all be understanding that he snatched the files right under his nose. 

Another shot hits the tree, catapulting splinters of bark in his face. He flinches, this tree doesn't deserve this treatment at all. He lets his head fall against the tree, waiting for the inevitable. 

A car, a navy blue Mercedes slows down next to him. A door opens. He hesitates, he has no idea who the rescuer is, could be Sergio himself for all he knows, but what other option does he have?

A door in the building behind him slams open and that's Ethan's que. No matter who sits in the car, at least he'll have a chance. He darts forward, jumps head first into the car and at the same time the Mercedes starts up again with squealing tires. He groans as he curls up on the floor, the door shutting behind him from the force of the acceleration. 

His ribs fucking hurt and this position in the footwell isn't helping that but at least nobody is holding a gun to his head. Yet.

"Whatever trouble did you get yourself into now, dear boy?" The voice is deep but feminine, with a guttural chuckle. Ethan looks at moderately high heels in front of him and his gaze follows shapely legs over a well-cut suit until he sees a familiar face.

"Hello Max," Ethan manages to say as he blinks against the black dots swimming in his vision. "You look very nice."

"Aww, thank you." Max smiles at him. "I couldn't quite say the same thing. What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Made some people angry." He has to close his eyes and his head feels too heavy to hold up. His heart still beats very fast and there's a tremor in his left arm. 

"Why don't you sit up here with me?" 

Ethan nods, struggling to push himself up but his arm shakes so hard that he can't push himself up. "I think I'll just stay down here, if that's alright."

"I certainly won't complain seeing you at my feet like that, sweet boy," Max says with a charming twinkle in her eye but a frown starts on her forehead as she watches him. She looks at the driver via his mirror and raises her voice. "Bernd, please call ahead for Wolfgang to prepare and let Sandra know that we'll need help from Dr. Berger."

Ethan gives her his brightest smile as he looks at her ankles and up her legs. "I won't complain about the view either. There's nothing hotter than a woman in a suit." Especially an older woman like Max but he won't say that. As it turns out, he won't say much more anyway. Somehow the noise of the car is getting louder and louder and drowns out everything else and then it becomes dark and quiet.

~~~

**Max:**

"I'm well aware," Max says, rolling her eyes as she climbs up the stairs. Thank all deities for mobile phones though, at least she doesn't have to look at the ghastly face of this worm while he drones into her ear. "My assistant will contact you as soon as I have an update." She hangs up before the worm can complain about her not calling him directly. She really has no time for this.

"Wolfgang," she says as she enters, not surprised to find him waiting for her at the door. Sandra, her assistant, had suggested hiring him, a butler who is also capable of impressive hand to hand combat and can act as a bodyguard if necessary. Not that she needs a bodyguard but his skills as a butler are impeccable. Right now he wordlessly holds out his arm to take her coat and hands her a cup of coffee with the other.

"You are a darling, Wolfgang," she says, holding her nose over the cup to take a deep breath of the wafting steam.

"Danke, my lady," Wolfgang says in his adorable english-german mishmash. "Mister Hunt is still asleep, Dr. Berger has seen to him an hour ago and said: 'Er sollte im Laufe des Tages aufwachen.'"

"And that means?" Max can handle German on a good day but it has not been a good morning so far.

"He should awake during this day."

"Good, I'm gonna take my coffee in the library to keep an eye on him. And I could use a good breakfast, something with eggs." 

"Kommt sofort, my lady."

Max nods at Wolfgang and strides along the narrow hallway until she reaches the room that she likes to call her library. This is an old house, one of the few that survived the war, with narrow rooms and high ceilings. It doesn't lend itself to representative furniture displays, but rather cosy rooms that all look different from each other. 

She opens the door to the library and kicks off her shoes. Even with heels at sensible height, she always takes them off to feel the plush carpet under her feet. This is her favorite room, with its high bookshelves and a wide window that lets in the morning sun. She settles down in a comfortable armchair and lays her feet up on a cushioned footstool, enjoying her coffee as the sun rises high into the sky.

She glances over to the sofa bed, now covered with bedsheets and a sleeping IMF agent. His pretty face is relaxed, he breathes calm and easily. Max smiles to herself, what a good looking young man he is. She can appreciate that. 

A soft knock at the door has her start, she must have dozed off. Wolfgang enters at her call, setting a tray with various covered pots and plates on the desk next to the window and places a thermos with coffee and a carafe with water on it too. 

"Dr. Berger advised to have Mr. Hunt drink lots of water," Wolfgang says, "and here is some chicken broth that he should take in small portions."

"I'll make sure he does, thank you."

Wolfgang leaves with a small bow and Max searches through the bowls and plates until she finds her scrambled eggs. As she eats, she watches Ethan. He seems to be waking up, his eyelids fluttering and his feet twitching. Max withstands the urge to walk over to him and touch his forehead — knowing the reflexes the IMF trains into their agents, that touch could cost her her nose. 

She shakes her head at her own sentimentality, who knows if her touch would be even welcomed. But then again, she is pretty good at reading people and Ethan has always been such an eager little boy, practically an open book from the moment she met him first. If he isn't begging for some soft touches soon, she truly lost her touch.

Max refills her coffee when a bump has her turn around. Ethan lies next to the couch, groaning as he holds his side. He is dressed in boxer shorts and one of Wolfgang's cotton shirts and nothing more, showing off shapely calves. Not that Max complains.

"You get back up on that bed this instant, young man," Max says, using her commando voice. That voice has made rows of assistants shake in their boots and whether he likes it or not, not even an Ethan Hunt is immune against it. He looks at her and then takes in the room and at last crawls back up on the couch, carefully settling down on his back. 

"Hello Max. I thought you were in jail."

She lets out a laugh. "Sweetheart, people like me don't go to jail."

"Naturally." He feels down his side, wincing as he touches his ribs. 

"Nothing seriously broken, just bruised. Your ankle is strained and will hurt for a while longer," Max says. She stands up to fill a glass of water and presses a pill out of the packaging the doctor left on the desk. "You've been out for three days though, not because of your ribs and ankle but because that IMF painkiller almost gave you a heart attack." She carries the glass over to the couch and leans down to him. "Sit up and take this pill. Drink this."

"Yes, Ma'am," he mumbles, his big green eyes staring at her. 

He struggles to sit up and she leans down to put her hand behind his neck and help him, pushing him up. His eyes widen at the touch of her hand and a deep sigh leaves him. Max stares in astonishment. The poor boy must be so touch starved, just this simple contact has him melt into her hand.

She holds the pill out and he picks it from her hand and puts it in his mouth without ever taking his eyes away from her. With a nod, she holds the glass to his lips and his arm falls down like a puppet's who got its string cut. He swallows, never taking his big green eyes off her until the glass is empty.

Putting the glass to the side, Max grabs his neck just a little more firmly and smiles when Ethan's eyes flutter and his head falls back. She bends down to him so that her breath flows over his stretched throat. "Now aren't you just the sweetest?" 

His voice is hoarse in the nicest way. "Yes, Ma'am."

She bites her lips.  _ He is just delicious! _

She has to be careful, she doesn't want to scare him away but she has seen this eagerness in his eyes before. The first time she met him, tied to a chair, straining towards the touch of her hand. And then later in the car, how his eyes lit up when she called him 'dear boy'. She had known it back then and his behaviour now just confirms it. This sweet little boy is desperate to go under, to let go and submit.

"Lie down," she says, adding a hint of that commanding voice to it. "Let me check on your wounds, my dear."

He goes practically boneless, a lazy smile on his lips and his eyes glazing over. "Should I undress?" His voice is as quiet as a whisper.

"How about I do that for you, dear boy?"

His eyes close and his head lolls back. "Thank you, ma'am."

_ How positively delightful! _

She takes the two steps back to her chair and carries the footstool over to the foldout couch. After settling down, she unbuttons Ethan's shirt. His clothes had been rather dreadfully spoiled after that fall, and Wolfgang was kind enough to give one of his cotton shirts for Ethan to be put on him while he was out cold. The only thing of his own clothes are the terrible boxer shorts, ugly loose things that she had been quite reluctant to let Dr. Berger put back on him after his examination. 

The shirt falls open, revealing the white bandage wrapped around his chest and the various bruises that litter the rest of his torso and arms. Max grabs a tube of zinc ointment that Dr. Berger left on the side table for Ethan's bruises and puts some on her fingertips. 

"Now this might be a bit cold, my dear," she warns before dipping the thick cream on the red and blue bruises. She's careful at first but gauging by his soft gasps, she can be a bit more firm. She works the ointment into the bruises with soft pressure, starting at his shoulders and down his arms and then back over his chest to the edge of the bandage. "Dr. Berger, who is absolutely discreet by the way, advised against taking the bandage off for the next three days so..." She stops and looks him over critically. Dr. Berger disinfected his wounds of course but he didn't exactly wash the poor boy. 

"Change of plan," Max says and stands up, searching for a tissue to wipe her hands off. "You stay there, I'll be right back." She presses the button at the door that sends a signal to Wolfgang and waits for him. A few instructions later, Sandra arrives with a pile of towels, casting an appreciating look over Ethan and then Wolfgang appears with a large bowl of warm water. Sandra lays a few towels out on the floor and then follows Wolfgang out, not after taking another good look at Ethan.

Max chuckles. "Seems like you have a new admirer, my dear."

Ethan shrugs. "Not as interesting as you are." His smile is blinding bright but it looks a bit too practiced for Max.

"Flatterer." Max moves her chair to the side and gestures to the towels on the floor. "Get up and stand on the towels, I'm giving you a wash."

He sits up, a bit easier than before, the painkillers already working. Max waits for him to stand up, watching him critically. "Take those ghastly shorts off."

Ethan raises an eyebrow at that. 

Max mirrors his expression, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "You're not the first young man I've seen naked, I assure you." 

Ethan grins, brushing the shorts below his hips and then lets gravity do the rest, stepping out of them. Max uses her foot to kick the thing aside and takes a good look at him. He still grins, he knows that he looks good.

"Stop being so cocky." She wraps a towel around the bandage, pulling both ends in front of his chest. "Hold this."

Ethan complies, the grin changing into a true smile. He looks almost shy. 

Max dips a washcloth into the water and steps on the towels. Starting at his hair, she wipes off the grime and sweat of the last few days. Making sure to keep the bandage dry, she works over his shoulders, arms and hands. 

"Raise your arm."

Ethan stretches his left arm up, putting it behind his neck. He twitches as she wipes under his arm.

"Ticklish, dear?"

He hums, and the shy smile makes him look several years younger. 

"Almost done," Max says. "The other arm."

Ethan grabs the towel with his other hand and raises his other arm, grinning as the washcloth tickles him again. She ignores it, wiping down his back and then steps around him to wash his chest and stomach, occasionally rinsing the washcloth. When she gets to his hips, she doesn't slow down, wiping firmly over his skin towards his crotch. 

Lightning fast, his hand flies out to grab her wrist, that cocky smile back on his face as he holds her hand away.

_ This is the moment. _

She doesn't say anything just raises her eyebrow and holds his gaze, unblinking. His smile crumbles and his eyes go wide, open, vulnerable and his hand on her wrist goes soft. She turns her wrist and holds his hand instead. A shudder goes through him.

"Sweetheart. Why don't you sit down and let me take care of you?"

The breath he takes almost sounds like a sob and he just collapses onto the couch. Max thinks of kneeling down but her knees won't like that so she pulls his head to her stomach and gently brushes over his hair, still holding his hand. He's breathing hard, trembling, as if he's barely holding on to stop himself from crying.

She instantly feels it when he tries to push the emotions back down in the way his shoulders tense and his mouth pulls into the fake smile. 

"Well, this is — "

"Shh," she shushes him. "None of this, Ethan. You're safe here, drop the act."

He keeps his cheek against her stomach but slowly looks up, his mouth open like in a silent plea.

"My sweet boy," Max whispers. "Is nobody taking care of you?"

His eyes fill with tears.

She strokes over his head, down to his neck, putting gentle pressure there. Again, just like before, his eyes flutter close and his breath leaves him in one long gush. 

"Let go, sweetheart. I'll take care of you."

_ There. _

He goes under like a stone in water. His body sags and Max hurries to drag her footstool over so that she can sit down and hold him to her shoulder. He doesn't sob but she feels his tears on her throat. Stroking his back in long, soothing strokes, she can practically wipe the tension out of his muscles. 

After a while, he takes a deep breath as he nuzzles into her neck and Max goes along with the shift. She tilts her head to give him access to her neck and smiles when she feels his lips carefully kiss along her clavicle. 

"My sweet boy, I'm not done cleaning you."

He hums, nuzzling deeper into her neck, causing delicious shudders in her. She strokes over his head again and then places her hand on his neck, slowly increasing the pressure of her grip until he gasps. A glance at his arousal tells her how very much he enjoys this.

"Keep your eyes closed and sit up. I want to finish washing you." She pulls on his neck as if he's a cat and just like that he follows her movement. He sways a little and sets his hands on the couch behind him, leaning back with a sigh. Max rinses the washcloth again and wipes over his thighs and knees and down his calves. She works fast and efficiently until he can be considered sufficiently clean, rinses the washcloth again and then — she looks up, watching his face. She wipes upwards the inside of his thigh until she meets his erection. 

Predictably he tenses, a gasp leaving his lips. 

"Shh, relax," she says. It's a joy to see the effect of her voice on him, it causes wonderful shivers down her spine to see how he sinks into himself on her command. She washes under his testicles with gentle pressure and then rubs the washcloth up and down his erection, watching the play of his muscles. She tugs more deliberately, smiling when he lets out a long moan. 

Without warning, she lets go of him and stands up. She grabs a large, soft towel and wraps it around his shoulders, holding it closed over his chest as she looks at him. He's breathing hard, his gaze piercing her, but he holds still. 

_ Such a fast learner, the sweet boy. _

Max places a kiss on his forehead and then pushes the footstool a bit further back. She throws a large pillow from the sofa on the floor in front of it. Without further ado, she rolls down her tights and slips out of her knickers. Hitching up her skirt, she sits down on the footstool again. 

"Would you like to do something for  _ me _ now?"

He nods and slides from the couch, setting his knees on the pillow. He sits back on his haunches, holding the towel closed in front of his chest. His eyes are wide and he watches her with a dazed look.

"Are you comfortable?"

He nods again.

With a smile, she holds out her feet for him. "Wash my feet, please."

He gets to work immediately, placing a towel over his lap and setting her feet on his thighs. He rinses the washcloth and begins to wash between her toes and under the soles of her feet. He is gentle and quite efficient, both her feet are clean in no time. He puts the washcloth away and then, watching her face, he lifts her right foot up to his mouth and kisses her toes. 

Max gives him her brightest smile and nods. "Very good, kiss them dry." 

His eyes close and he worships her foot with kisses, licking gently between them and suckling on the tips of her toes. He opens his eyes again, watching her and switches to her other foot. Max lets her legs fall open a bit more. His eyes narrow, he stares at the apex of her thighs, hidden under her skirt, all the while kissing her foot like the most delicious delicacy. 

"That's enough, Sweetheart, come here." She holds out her hand and puts it under his chin as soon as he is close enough. "You are very good to me, would you like to be even better?"

His eyes close as he nods and he leans into the touch of her hand. 

"You're very sweet." She kisses his forehead again and then straightens. "I want you to lick me until I tell you to stop. Put your hands on my thighs and don't touch yourself."

He surges forward like a man starving, shoves himself between her thighs and licks a long slow path up her vulva to her clitoris. He repeats that move three more times and she rewards him with a moan. She digs her fingers in his hair, holding on to him.

"Very good, sweet boy. Keep going." 

As if he waited for her to say that, he intensifies his efforts, twirling the tip of his tongue around her clit, curling the tip into her in such a way that he has her panting and moaning towards her release in no time at all. At last, he closes his lips around her clit and sucks and she cries out as her orgasm rushes through her.

He slows his caress but he keeps on licking her, just as she told him to. With an apologetic brush over his head, she loosens her grip on his hair and sets her hands on his shoulders instead. His rhythm is slow but steady as he licks up her juices and twirls his tongue around her clit again and soon she is moaning again as delicious waves of pleasure build up in her again.

She idly wonders if his technique is part of the IMF's training regiment because,  _ good heavens _ , the boy is incredible. 

With a gasp she gallops to another orgasm, her fingers digging into his muscles as he licks and sucks, until she bucks her hips and screams as her vision goes white. She presses her lips against his hair, holding him pressed to her until her breathing calms down and she slowly sits up. 

Ethan is still licking her, gently dragging his tongue over her vulva, licking up her juices.

"Stop, sweet boy." 

He stops licking and leans his cheek against her thigh, his hands sliding down to her calves. If she angles her head, she can see his erection, hard and glistening between his legs.

"You've been very good, you may touch yourself and bring yourself to satisfaction now."

His hand flies to his cock and it only takes him a few hard tugs to spill over his hand with a groan, pressing his face into her pubic hair. He stays there, breathing hard and there is some wetness on his cheeks that she softly wipes away with a finger. 

She strokes over his hair, waiting for him to calm down. 

"Get back on the sofa bed, dear boy, you need some more sleep." She waits for him to do as she ordered, takes the washcloth and cleans his hands and stomach, and then covers him up with a warm blanket. "Now sleep, sweetheart."

His eyes flutter closed and she watches him, stroking his hair until he is asleep.

~~~

**Ethan:**

The sun shining in his face wakes him. He sits up with a start, wincing as his ribs complain about the sudden movement. He looks around, the room is empty but someone must have drawn the curtains apart. On the chair near the window, he recognizes his clothes, or at least clothes that look like the things he wore before the job went to shit.

The table next to the couch is covered with glasses and bowls and a small plate with a pill package. Next to it is a folded piece of paper. He grabs a glass of water and empties it before he unfolds the paper to read it.

_ Dear Ethan. _

_ You'll find some light vegetable soup with egg in the bowl, please eat it slowly but all of it, Doctor's orders. Your clothes are on the chair but I had to replace some of them, especially those dreadful boxer shorts. I'm sure you'll find the boxer briefs much more comfortable and I assure you that they are much nicer to look at.  _

_ The pills are painkillers, please take no more than four over 24 hours. The bandage should stay on for two more days and you should not jump out of windows for the next three weeks at least.  _

_ My staff has been informed that you'll be leaving today, I'm sorry that I can't be there but if you need anything, let them know and they'll get you what you need, within reason of course.  _

_ Your visit has been most enjoyable and if you would like to come by again, I'm sure you'll know how to find me.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Max Mitsopolis _

Ethan grins to himself and puts the letter back on the table. He takes a pill from the package and swallows it down before he stands up with a groan. All his stuff is on the desk, his gun, his knives, the little electronic zapper. He hurries over and frantically searches through the bits and pieces until he finds the small disk with the files. He breathes out in relief only to have dread wash over him when he turns the disk around. A note is taped to the back.

_ Yes, I made a copy, no, I have no intention of selling the files. Let's just call it a little insurance.  _

_ Max _

Ethan shakes his head and swallows several swear words. Of course, why else had she even been there? Showing up just in time to save his ass. Not that he complains that she did and what else she did for him. The files seem a small price for that. 

He turns to the chair and looks for the boxer briefs. He laughs out, the briefs are made of soft, black cotton but the band at the top has a row of little red hearts. 

He puts them on with a groan, glancing over his shoulder to look at his own ass in the reflection of a glass door. Admittedly, the briefs look really good on him. 

Of course they do, Max knows her stuff. 


End file.
